#death note reader

Life was hard. 

And life was infinitely harder growing up in a secluded orphanage that prioritized only what you could offer in the future than who you were as a person. 

You didn't particularly know why you procrastinated on your plans to leave Wammy's. Most other alumni who graduated from the orphanage without getting adopted were either drafted into specific positions to be later used by greater letters than themselves or faded into obscurity. As for you, life seemed to be simultaneously too fast and too slow for your own liking. You knew at one point that you had to leave the safety of your childhood home, but you wanted to stretch the days until it felt like years would pass. Although you knew that the social environment in the orphanage wasn't the best—if what your friends in the psychological sciences were to be believed—you could not bear to let go of something that had sunk its claws into you for so long.

It was childish, but then again, you were still a child.

Today, you were out in the gardens that surrounded the property. Although most of the landscape was maintained by staff, there were a few areas where several students were encouraged to plant and cultivate their own vegetation. Most of the time, the area was frequented with many of the younger children—most of whom believed that they could play in the mud all day.

They weren't exactly wrong—many of their tutors touted Montessori methods of teaching and the benefits of training proprioception—but the children were expected to complete a project or two every season.

From what you could gather, most of the children would not pursue botanical pursuits other than the rare oddball or two.

Even now, there were only two small children being overseen by one of your older cohorts. The older child gave you a nod of acknowledgement before directing one of the children under her care to start digging a small hole on a small patch of bare earth.

As you walked past them and deeper into the gardens, you thought about your future. To have survived this long at Wammy's House, you would have to be smart, cunning, and resourceful. It was no secret that your sole benefactor, the legendary detective L himself, only created and maintained proteges to either replace him or to aid him in future investigations. It was like a  factory where he oversaw the cultivation of future geniuses like himself.

While you were smart and clever, you never made it to the top ten students who made their home at Wammy's. No, that honor went to those who either worked their hardest to reach the top or were either gifted with intellectual superiority. That said, you knew that you were one of the fated students to fade into obscurity unless you were brought out of the shadows for something or other for either L or whoever took over when the elusive detective finally died.

Now that you made your way into the heart of the gardens, you headed towards a wrought iron bench. Despite it being decades old, it didn't look its age. Rather, the groundskeeper must have been doing his due diligence to make sure that everything under his care was flourishing and was the spitting image of what it must have looked like at the orphanage's inception.

Here, underneath the shade of an aging oak tree, you were able to relax. It was an overcast day and whatever sun was available did little to provide you with any warmth. Were you surprised? Of course not, it was England and everyone and everything had their own schedule to adhere to.

It was practically a crime to go against what was normal and usual.

So, it came to a surprise to you when you heard someone trudging down the path, making a beeline towards the bench. 

And you.

It was rare for someone to find you out here, especially since it was the weekend and most of the orphanage's minders didn't keep tabs on the older students since they often proved to be "responsible".

(Was that true? Debatable, but you'd rather that they didn't nag you do to homework or keep a strict eye on your day to day life).

Curious now as to who was following you, you glanced up only to find yourself blanching at the student who was heading your way.

When you first heard the footsteps, you thought it was someone who happened to come near, someone who might have wanted to go see the bushes and the native fauna that had come with the orphanage so long ago. However, that was far from the reality.

Really, you did not see this coming.

The person who picked up speed to talk to you was none other than M or Mello.

Despite the position of his letter in the Latin alphabet, Mello was far from thirteenth place. In fact, he far surpassed those who made it in the top ten. The top five.

He was in the top three, usually making his way to second place.

He was smart and ambitious, always chomping at the bit to leave this wretched place and make a name for himself.

But he couldn't do that.

Not yet.

He was waiting for your esteemed benefactor to announce his successor.

Not that the news would matter to you, but you supposed given the rankings and the personalities of the top three students at the orphanage, you could only assume that N or Near would be the one to take L's place. In fact, most other children would agree with you, but all of you knew to keep quiet about such assumptions.

Mello wasn't a physically aggressive child most of the time, but his anger was more than enough of a deterrent to hinder such rumors.

"Mello," you greeted placidly as he practically fell in his seat next to you, "it's not like you to be walking the grounds so late in the afternoon. What brings you here?"

Sometimes, you wondered about Mello. You knew what his dreams were, what all of his hard work and striving to be the best meant for his future. Unfortunately, you knew that didn't mean that he was going to eventually get what he wanted. There was no way he could ever beat Near in the orphanage and if L ever broke his silence about his definitive successor…

You had to wonder if Mello could be a person outside of M, the second place student.

He scowled at you, but decided to face forward when you gave him a look that conveyed how done you were with him. You were more than well aware of what he was like around other students, particularly when he was angry that Near had beat him again in the rankings, but you weren't scared of him. Despite the height difference that came with puberty, you still had a few years on him. Age was but a number, but higher numbers meant seniority and sometimes, superiority—both of which Mello intimately knew well.

So, his grumbly nature didn't affect you as much as it would had you been the same age or younger than Mello.

Instead, you merely leveled an unimpressed look at him before you poked him gently on the side. 

(Years ago, before the idea of rankings and numbers and letters took over all of his ambitions and dreams, he would have laughed before tickling you back). 

The blond glared at you, but did not offer any more of a rebuttal than to slightly shift his weight upon the bench. You were too caught up in your antics to feel bad, but you were feeling nostalgic. No matter how old some of the students got at Wammy's, you would remember most of them as squalling toddlers or inquisitive children having fun. In the midst of the dread that came with aging out of the system, you had to hold onto things that made you happy.

And—

Well—

Messing with someone who used to be bright eyed and shy was titillating.

Unfortunately for you, after a few more seconds of your shenanigans, Mello finally had enough. He grabbed your wrist tightly—not enough to cause harm, but to stabilize your hand and to prevent you from tickling him. It was then, at that moment, you realized that Mello was uncharacteristically quiet. Subdued. Not at all the type of person who would spend weeks trying to one up Near or the person who would raise hell if he so much as heard whispers that he wasn't the best that Wammy's had to offer.

Curious now, you stopped and looked at him, a question clearly in your eyes.

"Erm, Mello...?" You didn't know what to say, given that he hadn't made it clear why he had chosen to accompany you on this fine day. As a last resort, you tugged out of his hold and leveled him a concerned, but wary glance. "Did you need something?"

That had to be the one thing that made sense to you at that moment. It was rare that Mello talked to you nowadays, even though you used to take care of him when he was younger. You couldn't put a finger on when or why, but he slowly began immersing all of his free time into his studies and beating Near. Before that, he had been content to spend most of his time living life to the fullest and playing with his friends. Now, it seemed that the Mello you used to know was now a mere shadow approaching noon.

That is to say, it no longer existed.

Though, you supposed that it had to happen at some point. People weren't meant to stay the same throughout their entire lives. Growing and change were inherent to every living thing on earth; Mello was not exempt and neither were you.

Or, rather, you knew that you were not exempt from that fact of life, but that didn't stop you from procrastinating on it. It was ironic. You came out to the garden to escape the impending doom of becoming a fully fledged adult, but now that Mello was here, you couldn't think of anything else. It would have been mildly infuriating if it were not for the pensive look upon Mello's face.

"I talked to Roger today." That was not an angle to the conversation you expected. Roger kept up to date on all of the students under his care, but he reserved most of his face to face interactions for those who held potential to become L's successors... Or those who were ready to leave the House. You weren't exactly ready, but you knew that you were due to meet him in a month or so. Presumably, you would have a plan already in place or working on one. If not, you knew that he had a number of connections and career opportunities lined up at the ready for students who needed help or lacked initiative.

While you rarely spoke with the old man, you already knew that you were not looking forward to the impending conversation.

"Okay... And?"

You didn't know what to expect. Mello was a fair bit younger than you, so you didn't expect his news to be anything other than his longtime pursuit of trying to one up Near, but you were surprised.

"You're moving out soon."

You shrugged, not at all concerned on the outside, but cringing on the inside. "Technically, yes. I don't have any concrete plans at the moment."

The most that you could claim were only vague memories picking through university fliers or a list of phone numbers and emails that would get you connected to former Wammy's House alumni. You knew you had to move forward some day, but you did not want to start that large jump for the future right now. Rather... that should be saved for the future.

The frown that spread on his face was more than enough warning that you said the wrong thing.

But what could you have said?

And that’s when you realized that he looked rather downtrodden. For a young teenager recently experiencing the throes of puberty, he looked rather pathetic, but at the same time, you saw that there was a faint anger in his eyes. Even his body language screamed that he was battling something in his mind. Something that must have been bothering him. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, eyes narrowed in irritation. 

“Mello,” you crooned softly. He scoffed at your attempt to calm him, but it wasn’t like your attempts were in vain. Despite his appearance, he gradually relaxed. You faced away at the last possible moment to preserve a few seconds of your poorly disguised mirth. “Use your words, what’s wrong?”

The blond always played at being an adult, especially when talking to actual adults, but to you, he caved. 

His voice started out subtle, almost as if he was tearing out the words out of his mouth like a dentist pulling teeth. Hesitant and soft, he said, “You’re leaving.” A pause. “Without me.”

You blinked at him, confused. “Well, yes. But that’s what happens when we become of age. That’s the way Wammy’s works.” You thought a moment, trying to process why he seemed so put out at your inevitable fate. “You know this already, Mello, why would—”

And that’s when it hit you. 

Really, you knew that you weren’t bright enough to get into the top ten, but still. If you had the capacity to care, you would have been irritated at yourself for blatantly missing the signs. Of course, how could you not have seen it before! 

“You’re going to miss me.” It was a statement you reiterated when you observed Mello about to speak up, probably about to refute your assumption. “Awwww, Mello!”

Before he could leap off the bench, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and squeezed tight. 

Most students at the House would have balked at giving Mello affection, but not you. It was rare to see Mello be vulnerable and willingly show his more emotional side of himself. You couldn’t imagine him engaging in heart to hearts with Matt or god forbid, Near. 

“You’re just as annoying as I remember,” Mello muttered into the crook of your neck. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, his voice as small as the child he once was. 

For a moment, the both of you basked in the warm embrace. 

However, like all things, this moment had to pass. The both of you had to face reality. 

Grow up. 

At the other end of the garden, you heard the small children who had been busy planting were whooping and hollering in delight. Over the din, you could barely make out that they had found a wriggling patch of worms and were busy trying to get their current caretaker to touch one of them. The added screams made you smile, but also reminded you that you couldn’t hold Mello forever. 

Slowly—achingly—you released him. 

But Mello did not immediately leave. 

Instead, he leaned back against the wrought iron bench and closed his eyes. 

As a bit of sun peeked through the overcast clouds, you could barely make out what he said. 

But you heard him all the same. 

“Yeah… I’ll miss you.”

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Sometimes, life led you down a path that you weren’t keen on treading, but had to anyway. One day, you were a normal person with a boring office job and with limited prospects for the future. The next day, you were confronted with the reality that there were beings and worlds that were well outside the scope of your very understanding. 

When you were about to put away your shoes from a day at work, you saw a scrap of paper on the floor. Unobtrusive and trivial, you didn’t think much of it when you bent down, shoes still held in one hand, and your fingers brushed against a corner of the paper. As you stood up from your bent posture, you flipped the paper over, expecting to see maybe a hastily scrawled address or phone number, but found that there was nothing, only creases. Shrugging, you relaxed your posture, but as you did so, you were face to face with the most grotesque creature you had ever seen in your life. 

Uselessly, you could only back up against your apartment door, the shoes tumbling from your hand and onto the floor. Instinct had you opening your mouth to scream, but social convention had you at gunpoint. Downstairs, you had elderly neighbors and most of the time, it was thoughtless to even think about earning their ire for making more noise than what was necessary. Instead, what came out of your mouth was a hushed gasp that was caught between a shriek and a whimper. 

The creature, with its strange skeletal structure, oddly dyed hair, and piercing one-eyed gaze, skulked forward. Even though it was taller than you by at least a foot and its hulking mass took up most of the width in the hallway, its steps were silent and almost graceful. Oddly enough, you were reminded of a ballerina–that was just how elegant the creature was. 

All of your analysis stuttered to a halt when the creature spoke. 

“It’s about time we talked.”

About time? What did that mean?

You balked, cognizantly aware that all you had to do was reach behind you, grasp your doorknob, and then twist. It didn’t matter if you were hallucinating or if there was truly a specter of horrific features–you had to leave. The longer you stood at the precipice of your apartment, fleeting freedom only moments away from being available to you, the more you knew that your chance of getting away was becoming less and less viable by the moment. However, when you finally got the chance to right your head upon your shoulders, the creature appeared in front of you, almost as if teleported in front of you.

You swallowed. 

Hallucination or not, this felt too real. 

“Forgive me for disturbing you,” the creature apologizes. It bows its head, almost in shame, but you can tell it hopes that you will forgive it. There’s something earnest in its posture, but at the same, you can only remember the slit in its sickly yellow eye. A predator, you can’t help but think. A creature that could easily eat you alive if you let it. “But I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to introduce myself now.”

It’s at this point that you speak. Your words are shaky, a stammer that was reminiscent of young children giving their first presentations in school. Still, you press on, and hope that whatever this encounter was, it would end soon. 

“Go on then,” you mumble, moreso out of self-preservation than out of true curiosity or politeness. “What’s your name?”

Something told you that this creature already knew yours.

“Rem.” It paused, as if preparing for the grand reveal of information that would change your life. And it would. “I am a shinigami and I have fallen in love with you.”

If the first admonition stopped your heart in surprise, the second one restarted it and then caused it to beat even faster. You’ve heard of shinigami before, of course, but you thought that they were only objects of superstition! There was no way that this strange being could take away your life with a simple thought! As that thought settled deep into your mind, you tried to read into the second thing the creature had told you.

It–no, Rem–loved you.

Shinigami don’t love people.

They couldn’t. They only took away people’s lives. 

The shock and disgust must have shown on your face because the shinigami bowed its head low, but its one lone eye continued to stare hungrily at you. Predator, you couldn’t help but think again. An apex predator who was cornering helpless prey. 

Rem took something from behind them. At first, you thought that maybe it would be something gruesome, like a severed head or a beating heart, but you felt yourself calming down slightly when you saw that it was a pitch black notebook. Atop the cover, there was something written there in English. It took a second for you to decipher the foreign language, but years of classes were enough to let you know that this notebook was called “Death Note”. 

“A gift. For our first meeting.”

Rem held out their hand, the bony carapace that reminded you of a human skeleton clicking with every moment, notebook still in hand. The shinigami waited and despite yourself, you hesitantly reached out and took it. The notebook felt… normal. It shouldn’t have disturbed you as much as it should–you’ve used notebooks for your entire life–but when you compounded the normalcy of something a student would use with the presence of a god… It blew your mind. 

“Why?” Your voice was tight, a quiet whisper that most humans could not hear. 

But Rem wasn’t human, now were they?

“Because I want you to trust me.”

Swallowing thickly, you couldn’t help but ask, “Why should I trust you?”

The shinigami didn’t smile, but you could tell that there was the seeds of glee and ecstasy in their gaze. “Because you can use the Death Note to kill me… if you so wish it.”

The notebook felt even heavier in your hand. 

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DISCLAIMER: I do not condone yandere behavior outside of fictional settings. Please don’t mistake the actions of fictional characters displayed in works of fiction to be considered harmless in real life.

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Mello was grumbling again. 

That in itself was not something out of the ordinary. 

What you would consider unusual or weird was that Mello wasn’t grumbling about Near. For some odd reason, the second best student of Wammy’s House was incensed about something other than grades or rankings. Whatever the case, you did not want to be within Mello’s radius whenever he was in one of his moods. You didn’t care if his grudge was usually reserved for the likes of Near and anyone else who dared to get into the top three; an angry Mello was a potentially dangerous Mello. 

As you were about to leave the library and away from the dangers of a brooding blond, you heard footsteps plodding behind you. Somewhat apprehensive now, you thought about hurrying towards the exit, but then dismissed that thought. Running from predators only drove their prey instinct to the forefront of their minds and you already knew that if you didn’t answer to Mello’s summons now, you would pay for it tenfold later. 

Slowly, you turned around, careful not to look too scared or too obstinate in Mello’s presence.

If there were two things that Mello hated, it was people who looked too quiet and too passive like sheep (characteristics that reminded him of a certain rank one) and those who thought it a good idea to challenge him at first glance. It was like tiptoeing on a tightrope, but the rope was slick with oil and there were gale force winds forcing you to lean unsteadily to and fro. For some people, this task was easy; for you, not so much. 

Uncertainly, the both of you stood at an impasse, the silence in between sounding like a death knell as your heart pounded in your ears. 

“Did… did you need something?” You didn’t want to ask, but you also didn’t want to incur his wrath by just staring stupidly. Like a sheep waiting for slaughter. 

The blond grunted, his light brown eyes darkening underneath the library lights. “We have that stupid charity fundraiser next Friday.”

Not a question. A fact. 

While not many people were aware of the true purposes of Wammy’s House, there were still people who knew that this was first and foremost, an orphanage for the brightest minds. While your benefactor provided more than enough funds to keep the premises maintained and the resources necessary to keep your minds sharp, it wasn’t a smart move to completely turn one’s back on society. There were connections to be had and maintained, and if that meant that the orphans of Wammy’s House were supposed to parade about and put on a show as if you were all mere children instead of the world’s brightest, then it would have to do. 

The upcoming charity event was supposed to be a dance and all of the children were expected to attend the evening’s gathering. For the past few days, your instructors had eased off the subjects concerning solely academic pursuits and had been preparing all of the children under their care with etiquette and simple dances to entertain potential donors. Things were simple enough for you, but not every child was keen on getting prettied up or showcasing whatever little physical talent they had in front of an audience who only pretended to care about orphans. 

Only the very young and those who did not function well in high intensity environments were allowed to stay within Wammy’s House. 

For someone like you, average and well below anyone’s radar, you were supposed to attend whether you liked it or not. 

For Mello, he was expected to attend as well. Although he was particularly emotionally volatile in school, he was able to keep a level head during outings and was expected to play nice while at the event. Furthermore, Near wasn’t allowed to go; his apathy towards societal expectations was more than enough to convince your minders that it was best that the first rank remain behind and have the second ranking student represent them. 

You were sure, even if you dare not ask, that the reason why Mello was so miffed was because while he was allowed the honor to represent Wammy’s House, it was because Near couldn’t go. A reward that was given mostly out of pity. 

“Yeah, we do.” You furrowed your brows, not understanding what Mello was getting at. “Are you not going?”

“‘Course I am.” He sneered at you. You hated to admit it, but it felt like a return to form; until now, the rest of this strange encounter was like entering the Twilight Zone. “The thing is, the old man wants me to lead the first dance and I need a partner to do that.”

You blinked. 

And then all of the pieces came together to form the weirdest puzzle you have ever seen. 

This was certainly a situation that you didn’t imagine ever occurring to you. 

“And you’re… Are you trying to find a partner for the first dance?” Was this revelation also the source of all of his grumblings? If so, he could have his pick of any of the other orphans in the House. Sure, there were those who had standards and favored self-preservation over being paraded like a show pony next to Mello, but still. There were countless other girls and boys who liked the spotlight and what better way to go about that than being arm and arm with a top ranking student? 

He seemed pained to admit this, but he nodded reluctantly. “It’s fucking stupid, but if I don’t do it, I get some of my privileges revoked. And you’re not as clingy or as whiny as others so…” 

Ah, so it was out of convenience. 

Not that you truly minded. If Mello targeted you because of some nefarious reason other than convenience, then you would be perplexed. (Realistically, you would be terrified. No one wanted to be one Mello’s hit list). 

“Ah. Okay.” You shifted your feet, your body subtly–but not so subtly–aiming to head towards the exit. Unfortunately for you, his eyes narrowed, as if trying to take in you sudden audacity of leaving without apparent dismissal. “If that will be all…?”

Instead of waving you goodbye, Mello instead moved forward, his long legs covering the distance between the two of you faster than you wanted. He kept his eyes trained on you, predatory as always, but there was a sliver of something else there that kept you rooted to the spot, but assured you that you weren’t going to get mauled any time soon. Finally, when he was merely two feet away, he spoke again. 

“We also need to practice or else Roger will get on my ass.”

You nodded, your head still trying to grasp how surreal this ordeal was steadily becoming. 

“Like, right now or…”

Mello groaned, as if suddenly realizing just how out of depth you–and possibly him–were. 

Before you could apologize or run away, he executed a textbook perfect bow and extended his hand in front of you, his eyes steadily holding your gaze. There was still a faint sense of irritation darkening his irises, but you could see how earnest he was and that his hand never wavered. 

“Can I have this dance?”

At the end of the day, you’ll head back to your dorm bed and sink into it thinking that the dance was a dream. However, in that moment when you took his hand and swept you into a waltz, you would almost think that you actually liked dancing with Mello.

Next Friday couldn’t come faster. 

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In retrospect, that should have been your first clue about L’s true nature.

You’re far from naive. 

You know that L isn’t some innocent, heroic entity hellbent on punishing all the criminals in the world. You’ve known since the beginning that he was a man who supposedly stood for justice, but he was only pursuing criminals for the challenges that they presented. Were this another life, you were sure that L would have been a master criminal with no hope of ever stopping him. After all, there were few people who could hold a candle to L’s intelligence, but you have borne witness to people who aptly fit the description of L’s monsters.

They were terrible people who were ruthless, cunning, and willing to eschew any morals that they must have at some point but had long since disregarded. With nothing holding these degenerates from their base desires, they wreaked havoc on whoever they targeted. Sometimes, they had no underlying cause to their behavior, but to show that they had the wherewithal and the audacity to be apart from the crowd.

For the more interesting and challenging of these people, L chose to track them down and play those games with him. 

It was hard not to feel appreciative of his work. With many murderers, terrorists, and criminals slammed behind bars, anyone could easily turn a blind eye to L’s less than ethical ways of handling investigations. Like any of the organizations or clients that enlisted L’s help, you trusted him. 

L was smart.

L was thorough.

L brought results and that’s what mattered the most.

So, it wasn’t all too surprising when L requested that you stay inside the Task Force inside during the night hours. Curfew? At your age? It was laughable, but you understood his reasoning. With Kira’s influence spreading throughout the world and especially in Japan, many criminals were trying to lash out and find out if there were any chinks in Kira’s armor. You were innocent in all of this, which meant you would have never landed yourself as Kira’s future victim, but L insisted.

And you trusted in L.

L always brought in results, no matter the cost.

So you acquiesced. 

At first, you were fine with the arrangement. You were still free to roam the streets to entertain yourself with your own devices or perhaps investigate on your own. However, L began to ask that you stay inside the building more and more—often citing that it was for your own protection. 

You believed him.

However, doubts started niggling at the back of your brain when you found yourself bumping into Watari, Matsuda, or Mogi outside the Task Force building. It seemed to be a coincidence, especially when it came to Matsuda’s clumsy but charming personality and Mogi’s stolid presence, but Watari himself? There was more to the old man—you knew that he made himself known on purpose.

Which meant…

L wanted to let you know that he was sending members of the Task Force to tail you.

But why?

You asked and a part of you felt relieved when L had said that it was all for your protection. Don’t you know that there have been riots lately? Or that there were a string of terrorist attacks due to Kira’s propensity to anger and divide the public? You’re important, don’t you realize that? 

You have nothing to fear.

You relented and eventually, you found yourself shadowed by one or more of the Task Force members on your outings.

And then—

And then you found out that you were allowed less than two hours of time spent outside, that your room was being relocated closer to L’s quarters, and that you were forbidden from interacting with any of the members outside of Watari and L himself. 

The fetters around your wrists had been slowly weighing you down ever since L had started restraining your movements, but now you realized that you were positively chained. Angry now and no longer trusting in L’s methods, you tried leaving your room so that you could rush to the command center. Unfortunately, you found that the door had been locked on the outside and that you were all alone. Confused now, but still very much angry, you tore through your apartment as you tried to find one of the many cameras that L more than likely hid. 

When that didn’t work, you shouted for him to meet you now. 

Cameras were never enough for the world’s greatest detective.

There had to be microphones too.

Roaring with rage for what seemed like hours did nothing but waste away your vocal chords. When the most that you could do was whimper and mumble incoherently at yourself, you began throwing objects at the door until finally—FINALLY—you heard the phone ring. Hurriedly, you picked up the receiver, eager to give L a piece of your mind. 

Unfortunately, after you ranted at him for five full minutes, you could only hear a brief intake of breath on the other side. You may not have been as close to him as previous investigators or as intimate a relationship as Watari’s, but you could hear the vague amusement and irritation. The sound rankled at you. It was as if he was treating this situation—you—as if you were nothing more than an annoying chore that he had to complete before Watari would box his ears.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m not a suspect in your investigation, so why am I restrained like Mr. Yagami and Miss Amane?”

You heard L chuckle on the other side, the quality of the phone rendering it crackly and even more monotone than his usual vocal quality.

“You’re not restrained. You’re free to do whatever you like and I’ve already stipulated that you can have two hours of free time outside.”

“You call staying in one room and only two hours of freedom ‘doing what I like?!?!’” If you were any stronger, you knew that the phone in your hand would have been crushed in your trembling grasp. “I’ve turned a blind eye to your methods before, L, but I question how any of this is related to me. So, explain.”

His voice dropped and the crackling on the line had you straining to hear him. 

What you heard next had you dropping your phone, the clattering doing little to calm the racing of your heart.

“Don't you remember? I’m a monster. And monsters like me would do anything to take and protect what’s theirs.” He paused. “You should be honored. I was originally going to give you only an hour outside, but Watari insisted on your behalf.”

You didn’t want to listen to him anymore. Before he could beat you down with his cold logic, you threw the phone at your apartment door, the clunking sound of plastic slamming into wood doing anything but calming you. 

You had to leave.

But in a world of monsters, who was to be your knight?

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DISCLAIMER: I do not condone yandere behavior outside of fictional settings. Please don’t mistake the actions of fictional characters displayed in works of fiction to be considered harmless in real life.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

Sometimes, you thought you knew a lot about L. Despite his propensity for secrecy, a part of you believed that you had known him long enough for you to glimpse into the innermost workings of his mind, to catch sight of what lay beneath his seemingly unknowable facade and see the human living underneath. He was a man not beholden to the laws that governed humanity or the morals and ethics that ruled one's souls.

Was he a higher being? 

Surely not, but there were times when his brilliance and his sheer alien nature far outweighed what you thought you had known about him.

So, it was with much trepidation—and maybe a little curiosity—that you woke up in the morning, a few seconds after your alarm had gone off to see that the world's greatest detective was in your bedroom peering down at you. 

As was said before, you had known L for quite some time, even if he did take most of the credit for the cases that you worked on together. Most of the time, L opted to stay behind the computer screens and had coerced you into representing him when Watari could not, but there were other times, rare and unusual, when he would actually venture out into the field and pursue criminals and the like for himself. You may not always see him in person, but whenever you did, the memory of what he looked like burned itself to the sensitive flesh of your eyelids like a brand on livestock.

You would always remember the shaggy hair, the dark black eyes that belied only passive disinterest. Most of the time, he would wear an oversized shirt with long sleeves, the color of an off white shade that must have been pure alabaster at one point. His legs, long you thought, were encased in even baggier jeans that only barely hid his bare feet.

Not once had you seen him wear something outside of this particular getup.

You had asked a particular question once when you were younger and not as kind to L. Yes, you regarded him as your superior—who in their right mind wouldn't?—but you didn't think of him as anything more than that. Reputation wise, you would have thought him aloof and arrogant (which he was and more), but you also saw in him a strange charisma. You saw in him someone who was determined to solve any puzzles that piqued his curiosity just for the sake of knowing and being the one to know it in the first place. It was leagues short of noble, but his detective work had put many criminal organizations behind bars, so you couldn't bear too much judgment against him.

It was that strange charisma that reached out to you and made you  want to seek out what was common to all humans: a chance for connection.

You asked, "Do you always wear the same thing?"

Not wanting to seem rude, you had softened your words and added a teasing lilt so he could shrug it off as a joke if he so wished. Looking back, you knew that he would take the question apart in his own way, always so serious in that distant way of his, but at the time, you were earnestly looking forward to his answer. There was only so much you knew about him and only so much courage you had to enact upon your curiosity.

It was with bated breath that you heard him say:

"No."

And that was that.

He returned to his computer screen and sheaf of documents that lay underneath a tray of French and Italian pastries and pointed you in the direction of your next assignment. You had scoffed, almost in awe at just how much effort he put into that one response (which was absolutely none), but you had accepted it. At the very least, you were paid a hefty sum for your diligent work and because you were L's little underling, you didn't have to worry too much about job security. 

He handled that for you.

For a time, you conceded that the most that you would ever know about your employer and pseudo-confidant was that he was insanely rich, brilliantly intelligent, and that he liked pastries with strawberries best.

And that he liked wearing the same outfit every day.

Until now.

L cocked his head to his left, looking like a bird who was seconds away from pecking your eyes out should you make the wrong move.

Fortunately for you, the world's greatest detective wasn't keen on getting his hands dirty. Instead, he leaned closer to you, tip of his thumb resting at the bottom of his lip, and hummed.

"You shouldn't leave your laptop resting on the bed when it's still on. The heat absorbed by the sheets and mattress could damage the insides."

You blinked, not quite willing to understand that your employer was in your bedroom—squatting atop your clean bed sheets while barefoot!—you took in something that probably should have alerted you from the start that today was going to be an adventure in not going insane. 

Because. 

L.

Your boss. Your employer. The man who signed your paychecks. 

Was wearing the top half of your pajamas. 

You blinked, not willing to believe what your eyes were telling you. However, instead of seeing an old shirt that you had repurposed into being your nightwear disappear into his customary attire, it seemed to become clearer and more apparent that your boss was wearing your clothing. 

You had to ask, though. 

To be sure, of course. 

“Thanks for the advice.” You cast your gaze to the laptop that hummed sleepily at the foot of your bed, fully knowing that you were going to end up sleeping with it like a pillow for the rest of your life if you could help it. 

Not wanting to ignore the L shaped elephant in the room, you faced him again and blanched when you realized that he was staring at you again as if you were a tumor and he was the surgeon tasked to extract it. And yes, it was not as comforting as it sounded. 

“Is… that my shirt you’re wearing?”

“Yes. It’s remarkably… comfortable.” He paused for a moment to chew his thumb—to which you noticed his nails were once again close to the quick—and said as an afterthought, “It’s short notice, but I have another case and I need to use this particular location as headquarters. Until then, you will be compensated well for your discretion.”

Without waiting for your reply, L hopped off the bed—was he wearing your repurposed pants too?—and shuffled towards the door and exited. 

Sometimes, you thought you knew a lot about L. 

Today, you just realized that you didn’t know him at all. 

Well.

There is one thing to be gained knowledge-wise: he rocked your shirt better than you ever could.

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“If you have a question, it’s better if you just ask it rather than spending the majority of your time fussing about it and then not saying anything.” L pressed a few keys onto his laptop, the gentle tapping of his fingers a stark contrast to the low monotone of his voice. To anyone else, he would have seemed blunt and callous, perhaps even irritated at your inner frustrations, but you knew him well enough—or fooled yourself into thinking you had—to know that he was actually quite gentle. If it were anyone else, he would have ignored you. 

You pursed your lips together and thought some more about the question you dreaded asking. Finally, when you knew that he was only a call button away from summoning Watari, you said, “It might be a stupid question.”

“If it is,” L murmured lowly, “I’ll be sure to inform you.”

Again, he tapped on his keyboard, the clacking of the keys serving as ambience. You could almost hate L at that moment. To him, most questions were probably frivolous; they were mere repetitions of the observations and patterns that he saw daily. If anything, he probably knew what you were going to ask just from your reactions alone. 

You sighed and resigned yourself to the horror of impending humiliation. “Okay… Am I pretty?”

Sometimes, you didn’t know what to expect from L. Yes, there were times when he resembled the mechanical workings of a computer—all algorithms and binary code—but there were times when you could swear that he was just as mysterious as the crimes that he solved. That is, to say, you would never know what the answer was, but L knew. 

He always knew. 

And his response? 

He continued typing, but gave you a sidelong glance at you that was more irritated rather than surprised. Figures. 

“Pretty, alongside most other adjectives, is a subjective matter.” He cocked his head to the side and brought a thumb to his lips, which he absentmindedly chewed as he continued to regard you. Dark and foreboding, his eyes bore into yours. They were wide and unblinking, but even as you stared back at him, you could barely make out the reflection within those dark pools. “I have no opinions regarding aesthetics.”

And that could have been it. 

Even before you began ingratiating yourself to L, you knew that he preferred form following function. He was practical and pragmatic, often choosing clothing that he knew would suit his sensory preferences rather than wearing outfits that could have suited him better. For him, the idea of objects that were purely made just for the novelty of looking at something good looking was far beyond his comprehension. 

Despite yourself, you prodded him. 

“Fine then, what about beautiful? Do you think I’m beautiful?” You were getting heated now, your voice slightly cracking at the end. It’s not like looks were everything, you knew that, but this was important to you. Your body… It felt like it wasn’t yours sometimes, like a thing that was only meant to be maintained and kept clean, but never to be seen as something attractive. What were you other than a vessel for a soul? A bag of meat and bones?

Pretty wasn’t everything, yes, but you craved to be acknowledged as someone who could be desired. 

Didn’t everyone else want the same to a certain extent?

This time, you caught L’s attention. For the first time in an hour, his hands abruptly hovered over the keys in uncertainty before retreating to his sides. Although his gaze was kept perfectly blank, you could see from the bright glare from the computer screen that he looked… confused. Perhaps even perturbed? You weren’t sure how to describe the expression on his face, but it was far better than the alternative: impatience. 

In a low, steady voice, he uttered your name. In the stormy turmoil of your emotions, you hesitantly responded with a soft affirmative. 

“This is a sensitive situation, yes?”

You nodded, too choked up and lost in your racing thoughts to properly respond. 

“Before I answer, I’d like you to answer a question of my own.” He raised a hand to placate you and if you looked closely, you could see that he was taking this conversation seriously. Although his voice remained the same and he still sat hunched in his seat as if he were still in work mode, the way he held himself—unnaturally rigid and alert—told you that he had heard your distress and he was going to do everything in his power to make it right. “As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Anyone could tell you that you’re beautiful. Furthermore, anyone could just as easily tell you that you are ugly. No two person’s standards are the same. So, why should you care? Anyone could say anything, so why bother listening?”

You were struck dumb by his words before you were hit by a tidal wave of indignation and the terrifying thought that L didn’t care. He probably thought that you were being stupid and emotional about this, why did you even ask—

Why did you even ask?

“It’s because it’s you!” You cried out. So startled he was at your sudden outburst, L nearly fell out of his chair, but you paid that no heed. You left the confines of your own seat to confront him, your presence rendering him dumb as you encroached on his personal space. “I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, I just want to know what you think! You’re important to me, that's why I want to know!”

L blinked. 

“Ah.”

That’s all he had to say? Ah?

The displeasure must have been more than evident on your face because he quickly began to formulate a response that would best satisfy your needs. 

“You’re not beautiful and you are not ugly. When I look at you, I see someone important to me. Aesthetics and societal standards don’t define who you are.” His hand reached out, his movements stilted and awkward, but he managed to land a feather-like touch on your shoulder. Despite his feelings towards physical touch and expressions of affection, he held on. For you, he was willing to eschew his reservations to make sure that you were all right. “Your body shape does not matter to me. Your companionship is far more valuable.”

His light hold increased in pressure for a few seconds before he abruptly let go, his hand going back to rest atop his knee. 

You were stunned into silence before you felt a smile break out onto your face. 

“Can I please focus on my work now?” His voice was still monotone, but you could hear the distinct wheedle in his voice that was the closest to whining you’ll ever hear from him. 

In response you nodded and, respecting the boundaries between the two of you, lightly rumpled his hair in affection. He made a startled humming noise, but you only grinned in response.

If L appreciated who you are, then why did other people’s opinions matter?

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What would happen was that criminals would start committing even more heinous crimes, ones that would exploit loopholes, corrupt legal systems, and make cover-ups an absolute. 

Kira would usher in an era of paranoia and secrecy, of a generation who would seek fit to leak their friends’ or family’s names and faces should they step out of line.

“But you don’t know that!” Unlike the soft fabric of her dress paired with the girlish pigtails that lay gently on her golden locks, her voice needled and sharpened to irritating points. She lay on her stomach, her legs kicking up the air as she gazed down at you, her head cradled in the meat of her palm. 

As for you, you sat cross legged on the floor, a series of newspaper clippings and magazines either scattered on the floor or blanketing your lap like an uncomfortable quilt.  

“You’re right, I don’t.” You shrugged, almost careless in your motion before regarding Misa with the weight of your attention once more. “However, you can’t deny that killing people is wrong. Criminals are still people. Therefore, killing criminals is wrong.”

She huffed at your logic before rolling onto her back. 

“Is it really wrong if they deserve it?” 

You shrug, the small mound of papers decorating your lap shifting and sliding onto her bedroom floor. 

“That’s what the justice system is for. You just don’t pass judgment because you have the power to do so. We have a system—flawed, yes—but it’s something that keeps us in check.” You sighed and fingered one of the clippings that caught your eye. There were columns detailing pro-Kira sentiments and reading them made your stomach churn in disgust. “No one person should have that much power.”

“And if Kira wasn’t a person?”

You finally looked up at her, saw that she was lying on her back now, but kept her eyes trained on you. 

You recalled how some of the news articles—gossip rags, now that you thought about it—began talking about Kira as if he were some deity or cosmic force sent from above to cast judgment. 

“Are you saying that he’s not human?” This time, you couldn’t help the edge that was sharpening at the end of your words. “What kind of god kills their people?”

With the rising tension, Misa rose from her bed and padded on the floor towards you. You of all people were more than aware of her short short and slim stature, how she worked out to keep fit and slender as opposed to bulking up on muscles. However, all thought of her not having the strength to do whatever she was going to do all but does your mind. 

With one, swift movement, she grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and hauled you up from your seated position and into a kneeling one. A part of you had willingly knelt on your own, but the other part had stubbornly resisted. That sort of strength that Misa had? She rarely showed and it was only when she was feeling more emotional than usual. 

“I’d rather worship a god that enacts swift justice than a legal system that lets murderers and rapists go.” 

You gently touch her wrist of the hand that held you captive. She struggled to hide it, but she was trembling with all of the passion of a religious zealot. You would never abhor her admiration for Kira—the loss of her parents and the subsequent stalking was more than enough justification—but you could never bring yourself to share her views. Looking up at her now, you saw that there was a desperation in her eyes.

She wanted—no, needed—for you to take her side. 

Kira had advocated for her, but he was a faceless entity.

You were there with her.

And if she couldn’t rely on you to share her views, then who else could? She needed someone. 

“Misa—” You started to say, but she shook her head, her brown eyes welling with tears. 

“I—” She let go of you and her head fell forward and into the crook of your neck. Hot tears coated your skin as trembling breaths greeted your ears. Carefully, you placed a hand around her back and at the back of her head. The warmth comforted her somewhat, but the stutter in her voice had you take pause. “You love me, right?”

You thought about it. “Yes.”

“Then you would take my side on this, right? Lovers are supposed to support each other! So why can’t you do the same?”

You sighed. She stiffened in your hold, but you paid her no mind as you rubbed circles onto her back. 

“That’s not how love works; you know that.” You pulled away and cupped her weeping face. “Couples don’t have to share the same opinions about everything. Obviously, sharing a few common values is a big part of the relationship, but it doesn’t have to be everything.”

“It’s just… If we argue about this, what if we argue about other things as well? I don’t… I can’t lose you!” She hid her face behind her hands, loud sobs wracking her frame. 

“Hey, hey…” You petted her hair and pulled her in close once more. “I’m not going to leave you, okay? It’s also normal for couples to argue, you know? If you want, we can talk about this later. Or tomorrow. Whichever works out for you is fine by me.”

Before you could say anything further, Misa threw herself forward and latched around your neck. You pitched back onto the floor, but thanks to the mound of newspaper articles and magazines, you were able to cushion your fall. 

You don’t notice this, but Misa was smiling into your skin. 

It was okay if you didn’t agree with her today. Or later. 

But she will try to convince you to see things from her point of view. It didn’t matter if her attempts would take weeks or even months. You will be a Kira supporter. You will support her in her ideals. 

As long as you don’t leave. 

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DISCLAIMER: I do not condone yandere behavior outside of fictional settings. Please don’t mistake the actions of fictional characters displayed in works of fiction to be considered harmless in real life.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

You bounced back on your heel, a mischievous look in your eyes as you allowed her to take you by the elbow and towards the center of the mall. 

“Oh, really? Does this mean we can both get our own little packets of french fries?” You ducked to avoid Misa’s swat at your shoulder. Her touch glanced off your shoulder, but you already knew that she would never put too much strength into her playful slaps. “Kidding, kidding… I know to expect that when you think I’m not looking, you’ll just end up stealing half of my fries and the rest of my food!”

This time, you were a little too slow to evade Misa’s next hit. Fortunately for you, even if it was a direct hit and you felt the full force of her assault, she was still gentle with you and you ended up laughing. 

“What? It’s true!”

“No, it’s not!” 

She pouted, her lips becoming fuller and more kissable as you watched in entertainment. Even when she had donned an outfit that was the complete opposite of her usual aesthetic, her cute expressions and mannerisms were all Misa. It was hilarious to know that most of the young teenage couples hanging around the food court could easily be identified as Misa-Misa superfans, but one look at your adoring girlfriend, and they didn’t give her a second glance. 

“Okay, okay!” You put up your hands in defeat, your decision to concede allowing a moment of sunshine to dawn on her gentle features. “Come on, you want a salad and an overpriced smoothie to balance it out, right?”

You graciously led Misa to one of the unpopulated tables before heading towards one of the food stalls. There was one that specialized in healthy foods, a salad being one of Misa’s go to whenever she decided to grace the mall with her presence on her off days. After procuring a salad and a smoothie, you traveled to another food stall. This time, you welcomed an aroma that you knew was chock full of the essence of fat and oil. 

If Misa were accompanying you, she would have complained that standing this close to junk food like this would have caused a breakout. You had to agree, though. Fatty foods did have the capability to make your skin somewhat oily and it was a pain trying to stick to the facial cleanses that Misa gave you.

Once your arms were laden heavy with food, you approached your table again. 

As always, Misa was busy wiping down the table, making sure that the previous occupants’ trash and germs were eradicated. Even if she appeared to be flighty and scatterbrained to the general public who devoured the image that she portrayed, you knew in private that she was detail oriented and particular about the way things were ordered. 

There was a reason why she was quickly climbing the ranks as an actress in minor roles to starring in some of the most famed franchises in Japan. 

“All right, my fair lady!” In front of your dear girlfriend, you placed the salad and the smoothie with as much grace as you could employ. The smile on your face gradually broadened when you saw Misa pause in the middle of her studious wipe down of the table to beam at the salad and smoothie combo. Oh, if only you could see Misa without the wig, but you knew that you wouldn’t be able to spend time with Misa as you wished. 

You sat down in front of Misa, your own food taking up the space. Just as you were about to bite into a burger, the slender hand of your girlfriend deftly taking away the packet of fries caught your eye.

“Hey! Thief!” 

In vain, you tried to swat Misa away from your food, but only managed to make her shy away quicker. She laughed at you, the low chuckling a stark contrast to the overly high pitched giggle that she would use on screen or in front of the media. 

“I’m your girlfriend!” She stuffed a fistful of fries into her mouth and without even pausing to swallow, added, “This is like, a girlfriend tax!” 

“A girlfriend tax?”

Spoiler alert: 

You had to buy two more packets of fries. One more for you and another for Misa because she wanted to take advantage of the so-called ‘girlfriend tax’. 

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If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.